


Scars To Your Beautiful

by high_warlock_of_brooklyn



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alec Lightwood Deserves Nice Things, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Author believes in writing as a coping mechanism, Autism Spectrum, Autistic Alec Lightwood, Bad Parent Maryse Lightwood, Bad Parent Robert Lightwood, Doctor Magnus Bane, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Good brother Jace Herondale, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Alec Lightwood, Light Angst, M/M, Neurodivergent Alec Lightwood, Pre-fic timeline death, Professor Alec Lightwood, Therapist AU, This is a purely self-indulgent fic, neurodivergence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:08:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25021402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/high_warlock_of_brooklyn/pseuds/high_warlock_of_brooklyn
Summary: Dr Magnus Bane, a renowned psychiatrist, gets a house call from Senator Lightwood, following the death of his youngest son. After visiting, he comes face to face with Alec Lightwood, a man he would very much like to help.Certain situations arise, forcing him to refuse the case, a decision he very much regrets.However, destiny might have a different ending in mind.
Relationships: Clary Fray/Isabelle Lightwood, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Simon Lewis/Jace Wayland
Comments: 12
Kudos: 85





	Scars To Your Beautiful

**Author's Note:**

> Couple things,  
> 1\. This is a 100% self-indulgent fic, and this would deal with deep issues like anxiety, bad parenting, autism, and things as such. If that's not your thing, feel free to go back. I'm also not a professional in this area, I don't claim any accuracy.  
> 2\. I am not looking for concrit, but if you notice something that needs to be tagged, leave a comment.  
> 3\. This fic will be posted as frequently as I please, because it requires a certain mindset for me, so no asks about updates please. Rest assured, I *will* finish it, so don't worry about it being abandoned.
> 
> Happy reading!

“So. Mr Lightwood.”

He shifts in his seat nervously, hands fidgeting with the hem of his dark blue sweater. “Yeah. Yes. That’s me. Lightwood.”

“So it is.” A polite smile touches the man’s face. “Let’s start with the basics. Tell me a bit about yourself, then. How are you?”

“I’m fine. I always am.”

The man sits up straighter, and puts the notepad on the small table next to the expensive ivory couch. “Now, Mr Lightwood. There are some rules here. I understand people don’t expect rules in a place like this, most people consider this to be a no-bars-on-anything sort of place, but I want to know your opinion.”

“Whatever you decide.” He nods.

“That’s not-” The man sighs softly. “I’m asking about _your_ opinion, not mine. Here I can easily enforce any rules I want to, and if necessary, I probably will. But I want to know what _you_ think.”

“I- I don’t know.” He’s vaguely aware of the fact that he’s squeezing his hand again, mostly because the man is observing the gesture. He’s not usually under this sort of scrutiny, and his hand breaks the hold, fidgeting, until he starts rubbing his elbow, almost on instinct. “Do you want me to stop?”

“What?” 

“The- the hand thing.” He swallows a little. “My parents tell me it’s not appropriate. I’m sorry, I thought I had stopped doing it, but I just- I’m- I’m sorry. I’ll try to stop.”

The man squints a little, before easing back on the couch. “Mr Lightwood, you don’t mind the rules, then?”

“I- uh-” He exhales a little, the skin between the forefinger and thumb of his left hand being twisted tightly by his right hand, the welcomed pressure focusing his senses. “Rules are there to help.”

“And why do you think that?”

“Rules are rules. I’m not supposed to question, just follow.” He repeats. “Rules are there to help.”

“Okay.” The man scribbles something on a notepad. “There are a few simple rules, number one being, no lies.” He nods. 

“So,” The man seems nods back. “Mr Lightwood, let’s repeat the question again, shall we? How are you?”

“I’m-”

Fine? Is that what he should say? But again, was he, really? It’s become a sort of trigger at this point. He knows when someone asks about him, _if_ someone asks about him, they’re not asking. Not really. It’s social niceties. And you don’t go pouring your problems out to every person who tries to make polite conversation with you. He knows better than that. His parents have raised him better than that.

But he’s not fine, is he? And the man did say ‘no lies’.

“I’m-” He tries again, but his brain is too frazzled, even the bruising grip he has on the soft skin of his palm not enough to stop the familiar panic rising up his throat. “I’m- uh- I- I don’t know. I don’t know how I am. Sorry. I don’t know. I’m so sorry.” His breathing is probably erratic, a voice in the back of his head informs him, and there’s a lump in his throat he can’t seem to swallow.

It’s a simple enough question, isn’t it? How is he? He’s heard people answer it a thousand times, and his siblings, his parents. Casually, brushing it away with a simple ‘Great!’ so they can get to the actual point, or just to make conversation. 

Then why can’t he breathe?

“It’s okay to not know, Mr Lightwood.” A deep voice filters in the haze of panic currently surrounding him. “It’s perfectly normal.”

“It is?” His breathing is still erratic, but the knot in his throat seems to ease. It’s good then, it’s normal. But even then, he can’t believe he screwed up this soon into a simple conversation. No wonder he’s-

“Yes it is.” The voice interrupts his thought process again. “I know a lot of people answer with a simple ‘great’, but it is, in fact, one of the most important questions. It’s okay if you don’t know. Even I don’t know how I am sometimes. It’s okay. It’s only human.”

“Oh.” He breathes out, his the pressure in his chest lifting a breath a time. “Still, sorry.”

“Rule number two, Mr Lightwood.” The man’s gold-green eyes tingle with a smile. “No apologising for something that’s not your fault.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He swallows. Great, only ten minutes in and he’s already broken two rules.

“What did I just say?” The man raises a shaped brow, and he ducks his head, trying to hide his embarrassment.

“Sor-” He swallows back the rest of the apology, and the man smiles.

“So, tell me a little about yourself.”

“I- uh- I-” He fumbles. “I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s okay.” The man assures him. “Why don’t you start with your name?”

He breathes easy, having a direction to work with. “I’m Alexander Lightwood, but most people call me Alec.”

“Hello Alexander.” The gold-green eyes smile at him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Magnus Bane.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Dr Bane.” Alec smiles a little.

“You can call me Magnus, if that’s what you’re more comfortable with.” He continues when Alec nods. “That’s rule number three, actually. You’re allowed to do anything that comforts you, including, what you just told me, is ‘the hand thing’.”

“O- okay.” Alec mentally kicks himself for not being articulate enough for a simple reply, the pressure on his palm increasing with every slip-up.

“Okay then,” Magnus sits up again. “Why don’t you tell me more about yourself? What about your family?”

“My parents are Robert and Maryse Lightwood, and I have three sibl-” Alec’s brain registers the mistake a moment later. “Sorry, two siblings.”

“I heard about your brother. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” There’s a pounding noise in his ears, his breathing speeding up a fraction. Alec swallows back the foul taste in the back of his mouth that’s become a constant companion since Max.

“I’m also sorry for being so generic.” Magnus smiles softly. “You must have heard a thousand _‘I’m sorry’_ s.”

“I have.” Alec answers, head still ducked down. He’s grateful Dr Bane isn’t demanding eye-contact right this moment like his parents, he doesn’t think he can handle that. “Thank you, anyway.”

“Tell me about your siblings.”

“Well there’s Isabelle,” Alec’s eyes light up remembering his sister, “She’s studying Forensic Biology in NYU.”

“That’s a very intriguing choice. You must be proud of her.”

“I am.” Alec’s voice goes soft. 

“You said, you have another sibling?” Magnus looks up between taking down notes, his face curious.

“Yes,” Alec nods. “Jonathan Christopher, but he prefers Jace. He’s studying music theory.”

“Does Isabelle have a nickname too?” Magnus asks, and Alec scrunches his brows in confusion.

“Yes, she prefers Izzy. Why do you ask?”

“All of you seem to have an uncommon nicknames, I made an inference based on that.” Magnus explains. “Looks like I was right.”

“So, Alec, tell me about Max.” Magnus rests his chin on his curled knuckles, and Alec feels his shoulder tense up. 

_Max._ What can he say about Max? That he was his baby brother? That the first time he held him, Max wrapped his tiny hand around his finger and Alec promised he’d keep him safe? Or that he couldn’t keep the most important promise of his life when it mattered?

Or the fact that he’s been so scared to confront the feelings that he’s locked them away in the farthest corner of his mind, away from the brother he saw learning to walk on wobbly step at a time, and the brother he bought art supplies for, and the brother he drove to every hospital appointment?

There’s so much to tell about Max, but right now, Alec feels can’t bring himself to utter a single word.

“It’s okay if you have nothing to say, Alexander.” Alec’s eyes snap up to meet the gold-green eyes in front of him. There’s something there that makes him feel- safe, is it? No, more like known. _Understood._

“It’s not that I don’t have anything to say,” Alec tries to explain, hands waving around, “It’s just- I- I don’t know how to- why to- sorry.” He sags down in defeat. “Sorry I know I’m not making sense.”

“Alexander, I’m not expecting you to make sense.” Magnus shakes his head. “I’m here to listen to whatever it is you have to say. Even if you don’t have anything to say.”

Alec’s head feels heavy, and he slowly lies back against the purple sofa, all his energy drained out. Magnus opens his mouth, but he doesn’t get to say whatever it is he wanted to, as Robert Lightwood barges in.

“I think that’s all the time Alec has for today, isn’t it, Alec?” Robert gazes sharply at Alec, who Magnus notices twisting the skin his hand unconsciously. 

“Mr Lightwood, I would have expected some manners from a Senator. I don’t allow anyone to just barge in without knocking when I’m in a session.” Magnus’ voice is stern.

“Session?” Robert’s smile is calculated, “This isn’t a session! You’re just visiting an old friend in the aftermath of an unfortunate situation he’s faced.”

“You mean the death of _your_ son? That tragedy?” The tension in the room tightens, and Alec digs his nails into his palm, leaving what will inevitably become little moon-shaped indentations.

“I’m not an actor, Mr Lightwood.” Magnus stands up, buttoning up his jacket. “If you want to actually help your son, I’ll be more than happy to oblige. But if you want to play pretend, please hire a professional to do your bidding.”

“You’re not gonna tell the media a word about this, Mr Bane-”

“It’s _Doctor_ Bane.” Magnus’ eyes burn a hole into Robert’s face. “And I’m not a lacky you have on your payroll, _Mister_ Lightwood. What I speak about to anyone, including the media, is my personal choice, not yours.”

Magnus turns to collect the notepad, before he notices the alarmed expression on Alec’s face. “Alexander,” His voice softens, “If you need any help, feel free to contact me.”

Alec swallows thickly, and Magnus gives him a short nod, before turning to leave, only to find Robert blocking his path.

“I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot, Dr Bane.” Robert’s voice is pleasing, visibly trying to help smooth things over with the famous Senator charm. Magnus rolls his eyes inwardly.

“What I only meant to say is that, you can understand the kind of pressure Alec might be under for having any... unsavoury problems, you might say. The university might not want employ him anymore, he might lose his tenure.” Robert says, voice precariously diplomatic. Magnus heart breaks imagining the boy standing behind them.

“Mr Lightwood, I would really appreciate it, for Alec’s sake and yours, that you treat your children less as bargaining chips and more as your children. And as for Alec, there’s nothing I would do to jeopardize his career. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go help a man who actually cares about his children.”

Magnus tries not to notice the resigned and closed off look on Alec’s face on his way out.

___________________________

The chance that Alec might actually seek him for help is infinitesimal, and Magnus highly doubts Senator Lightwood with his ruby tie-pin and pressed suits and perfectly diplomatic smiles would ever voluntarily let him go out looking for the help he needs.

A sigh makes its way out of Magnus gets in the car, telling Alaric to head back to his office, his mind going back to the boy with the sad eyes and small smile.

One of the many casualties of the American elite.

___________________________

There’s someone knocking on the door, sound of a knuckle rapping against the dark wood thrice in a rhythm.

“Come in.” Magnus calls out, and an orange-haired face pokes in.

“Magnus?”

Magnus closes his laptop with a soft thud, face lighting up to greet his assistant. “Yes, Biscuit, is everything alright?”

“Uh- there’s a Mr Herondale waiting for you.”

Magnus mentally wades through his schedule for the day. There’s no Herondale anywhere, but the name stirs a distant memory in his mind. Something about an old celebrity maybe. 

“I don’t think I have a Herondale in my calendar, do I Clary?”

Clary shifts from toe to toe. “No, you don’t. But he says it’s important, and he needs to talk to you _now_.”

“He’s not my patient, is he?” Magnus asks, Clary shaking her tiny head. “Fine. Tell him to come back tomorrow with an appointment.”

“He’s really insistent, Magnus.” Clary purses her lips.

“Then schedule him first thing in the morning.” Magnus picks up his laptop. “It’s late, and my session hours are over. It’s been a long day, Biscuit, I’d like to go home to my cat.”

“Of course, Magnus.” Clary nods. “I’ll tell him to come back tomorrow.”

Clary walks out, leaving Magnus to finish packing for the day. He methodically packs his laptop, notepad, and water bottle into his leather satchel bag, the one Catarina gifted him last year on his birthday. He’s putting his phone into his pocket when the doors swing open again.

“Biscuit, I told you to-”

The person in front of him isn’t the short, chirpy, ginger he knows since he was twelve. The blonde guy is in his 20s, wearing an expensive leather jacket Magnus appreciates very much. Clary hastily follows him into the room.

Unfortunately, good fashion choices don’t make up for rude behaviour.

“Clary,” Magnus keeps his voice calm, “I thought I told you I’m not taking any more appointments for the day?”

Clary looks flustered. “I’m so sorry, Magnus, but I had to. He said he was going to jump out the window.”

“And state law insists that if someone declares to be in a mindset that can be harmful to themselves, any available doctor has to check on them.” Magnus sighs. 

“What can I say? I got a sudden urge take a swan dive.” The blonde smiles cockily. 

Magnus feels annoyance creep up his spine. “Are you having any more of those _urges_ now, Mr Herondale?” He asks, sarcasm laced in his voice.

“Nope!” The blonde smiles, “Apparently just being in the same room as you has cured me of my suicidal urges. You must be _very_ good.”

 _Spoilt trust fund kid_ , Magnus sighs not-so-inwardly. “Great! Now that you’re feeling better, I better get going.”

“Wait!” The man quickly walks towards him.

“Mr Herondale I don’t appreciate-”

“This is about Alec.” He breathes out, and Magnus freezes on the spot, his mind immediately thinking the worst. Alec has experienced a trauma, a loss so severe, without a healthy coping mechanism or a family to support him. What if-

Dammit, he shouldn’t have left him there! It’s his job! Just because Robert Lightwood is a dick doesn’t mean Alec shouldn’t be helped. If anything, it means Alec must be helped all the more.

What if it’s too late?

“Alexander?” Magnus swallows, mentally preparing himself for the blow to come. “What is it? Is everything okay? Is Alec okay?”

“Alec’s fine!” The blonde assures him. “Well, considering. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually.”

“About what, exactly?” Magnus asks, and the blonde looks right at him, all of the arrogance and cockiness gone now.

“You need to take my brother as a patient of yours. Again.” The blonde’s voice is determined.

 _Brother_. So this must be Jace, Magnus thinks.

“You’re Jace, I presume.” The blonde nods. “Alec told me about you.”

Jace’s face lights up. “He did?”

“Yes. But Mr Herondale, you must know that your father doesn’t want Alec to have a therapist. And as long as Alec himself doesn’t ask me to-”

“Firstly, Robert is not my father. I was adopted when I was ten. My birth parents were Robert and Maryse’s best friends, so after they died in a car crash, the Lightwoods adopted me. Secondly, Robert doesn’t want Alec to be anything other than the perfect Prince Charming he can influence his political image with and just present at parties and galas.” Jace waves his hand. “If it was up to Robert, Alec wouldn’t ever be anything other than an overly-glorified public vote influencer.”

“What exactly do you want, Mr Herondale?” Magnus regards the blonde closely.

“I want you to exactly what Robert told you.” Jace says. “You’re a family friend, helping us through this tough time, offering hugs and kisses and whatever it is Robert wants to hear.”

“And why exactly would I do that?” Magnus asks, curiosity peaked.

“Because I saw my brother smile for the first time in three months, and it’s because of you.” Jace sounds desperate. “My brother, he’s- he’s different, he’s not like us. He’s kind, and sweet, and he tries _so_ hard.” His voice breaks. “And he needs someone to talk to. And me and my family, we’re- we can’t do anything for him, not anything that can actually help him. But you can. Please. You have to help him.”

“Mr Herondale-” Magnus tries to talk, but Jace cuts him off.

“If its’ about money, my parents have left me more than I need.” Jace shakes his head. “You can have all of it. I know I’m asking a lot of you, asking you to lie and pretend, which probably goes against most of your morals. But you have to understand, I’ll do anything for my brother, anything you want. Just- just help him.”

Magnus regards the blonde closely for a moment. Initial cockiness aside, the man seems to genuinely care about his brother. And besides, as good it felt to tell Robert Lightwood to go shove his crap, Magnus’ brain has been rebelling against leaving Alec in that house without any help. And right now his heart breaks realizing that the mostly disastrous appointment this morning is what had been Alec’s experience of a good day, in what seems like months. 

“Alright, Mr Herondale.” Magnus takes a deep breath. “I’m in.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts?  
> Leave a comment or find me on tumblr @high-warlock-of-brooklyn 💙


End file.
